


March to the Beat

by chibistarlyte



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Romance, High School Drama, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 04:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10824165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibistarlyte/pseuds/chibistarlyte
Summary: All Sokka wants is to make it through his final marching band season and graduate at the end of the year. All Zuko wants is to make it through the marching season and the rest of the school year until he can move out of his abusive home. Together, they'll figure out their last year of high school, face whatever challenges come, and experience a little romance along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic waaaaaaaay back in 2011, posted three chapters on FFnet, and then left it on hiatus in 2012. Well, it's been on my mind lately, and so I decided to cross-post it here and then continue writing it. I'm making it a goal this year to finish all of my unfinished fics, so this is the start.
> 
> The original three chapters will remain mostly unchanged, save for a couple minor edits that I caught while re-reading. However, please don't hesitate to let me know of any further errors!
> 
> It's been almost ten years since I graduated high school, so my memory of marching band life is pretty rusty. Please forgive me, and also don't be shy to let me know of major inaccuracies and the like! A lot of the terms, culture, and structure of the marching season are based on my personal experiences in band (well, technically, I was in the color guard, but y'know).
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy!

The first time Sokka saw him, he nearly dropped his trumpet mid-march. Despite the commands from his drum major to keep in step while marching toward the competition field, the tanned teen nearly stumbled over his own feet while his gaze remained locked on an extremely _hot_ guy in a red and black uniform passing by.

The band came to a halt in the end zone, waiting for the previous band to gather up their props and exit the field. Sokka gulped and held his trumpet at attention in front of his face. He could feel beads of sweat trickling down his face from beneath his shako. His crystal blue eyes glanced around nervously. He had never felt this way right before performing—then again, he had never been so thoroughly distracted by someone so incredibly good-looking from another competing band right before performing, either. They had about thirty seconds before it was their turn to enter the field, and in that time, Sokka had to completely refocus and ground himself. ' _Think of the show, think of nothing but the show!'_ he thought to himself, taking in a deep and shaky breath as Hahn's voice commanded the attention of the 120 high schoolers standing in complete silence.

"Mark time low!"

"Pop-plant!"

Before he knew it, Sokka was marching out onto the astro turf and settling into his drill spot for the beginning of first production. Hahn stood on the drum major's podium and bowed to the audience as the commentator announced their band to the anticipating crowd. The leader of the Water Tribe Warrior Band raised his hands and began the visual count-off. Sokka raised his mouthpiece to his lips and began to play with the rest of the band.

The show went by in a complete blur, and soon the tanned teen found himself lazily trudging back to the buses to change out of uniform with the rest of his fellow band geeks. Truth be told, Sokka couldn't remember a damn thing for the entire span of fifteen minutes on the field—he just hoped that he didn't royally screw up for it. Not only would Master Pakku give him shit at next practice, but Hahn would be once again demeaning him and trying to convince him to resign as section leader. Like _hell_ he would ever do _that_.

"Hey, Sokka, are you all right?" Katara said from behind as she caught up with her brother, cradling several flags, a rifle, and a saber in her arms. "You didn't look so great before show. Is something wrong?"

Sokka smiled at his sister, shaking his head. "Nah, I'm fine. Just a little nervous, I guess," he assured her. "Nothing to worry about."

The guard girl set a hand on her brother's shoulder, a tougher feat than she imagined as she tried to balance her equipment in one arm. "Okay, if you're sure…but if you wanna talk, you can come sit with me and Aang after we get changed."

At this, the trumpet player let out a light chuckle. "I'm fine, really. Besides, I'd hate to impose on your boyfriend time," he teased, causing Katara to blush. Before she could throw some retort of denial his way, Sokka climbed onto his designated bus with the rest of the males and promptly changed into his much more comfortable street clothes. After hanging his uniform on the racks above his seat, he gathered up what little belongings he brought with him—wallet, phone, PSP—only the essentials, for sure—and disembarked the bus, pawing at his chin the whole walk back to the stadium. The strap from his shako was really starting to rub his skin raw, and it was barely the beginning of the season.

He showed the gate proctor his stamped hand that allowed him entrance into the competition and quickly found a seat high up on the bleachers. He liked sitting further up, because it was much easier to see the neat shapes and such written by all the brilliant drill instructors and practiced by the competing bands. It also made it easier to tell whether or not the bands played loud enough, judging by how well he could hear them from so far back. As the next band stepped onto the field, Sokka allowed himself to become completely absorbed in the music.

"Hey, Snoozles, mind if I join you?"

Without turning toward her, or even opening his eyes, Sokka hummed a, "Nope," as his head bopped to the mad beats produced by the drum line. He let Toph use his shoulder as leverage to seat herself next to him on the cold metal. He cracked an eye open to see the blind freshman drumming her thumbs on her thigh in sync with the battery currently performing. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he nudged his friend with his elbow. "Too easy for ya?"

Toph nodded, still keeping up with the tempo. "This is the kind of boring stuff we practice with in sectionals—our drum breaks in show are _much_ cooler," she said with confidence. Of course, percussion always came easily to her; with her blind handicap, she had to rely more on her other senses. Those heightened senses made it cake for her to pick up beats at the drop of a hat, both by listening and feeling the vibrations of sound against the drumheads. Hell, she was even better at marching than Sokka thanks to that, and he had been in band for _four_ years already. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't even a little jealous of Toph's talent…though he was sure she couldn't best his skills with the trumpet, at least.

"Their brass section doesn't sound too great, either," the tanned teen admitted, reclining back slightly. "They need to play louder and face their bells toward the press—"

Oh. Oh _shit_. Shitshitshit _SHIT_.

Toph blinked her unseeing eyes, tapping lightly on his shoulder. "Snoozles? What's wrong? Your heartbeat just got a lot faster…"

Sokka could barely hear his best friend over the blood pounding in his ears. His ocean-hued irises widened as he stared four rows down and to the left. He had to force himself to breathe. His body remained completely frozen in his spot. It was _him_ —the really hot guy he saw earlier, right before show time. Except now he only donned his black uniform pants with a red stripe running down the sides, and a black undershirt with an illustration of a drum and a witty phrase written above and below the image.

"Percussion—the only section that doesn't blow," Sokka mouthed quietly.

"Amen to that," Toph interjected with a snicker. Sokka suddenly remembered her presence and shook his head frantically.

"Uh, Toph, do you know which band has military-lookin' red and black uniforms?" he asked dumbly.

Sighing in slight aggravation, Toph jabbed a finger towards her cloudy blue eyes. Oh, _right_. Sokka facepalmed, muttering a small apology for his forgetfulness. The freshman percussionist behaved so much like a seeing person, it was easy to forget that she was blind.

The band on the field concluded their show with a blast of sound, and the audience erupted into applause. Sokka gulped as the guy stood and turned around, climbing up the bleachers with his long legs—presumably to get some food, or use the bathroom before the next ensemble came on. As the guy made his way toward the trumpet player, Sokka got a full view of his face for the first time. A giant burn scar marred the left side of his face, but somehow didn't detract from his extremely good looks. His hair was dark and shaggy, bangs hanging just in front of his eyes that were a beautiful, piercing gold colour. He was _gorgeous_.

Their eyes met for a brief second as the guy passed, and Sokka thought he was going to faint. His curious blue eyes followed the guy until he disappeared behind the concession stands.

"What are you staring at, Sokka?" Aang asked from behind, standing arm-in-arm with Katara. Sokka shook himself out of his daze, feeling his cheeks flush bright pink with heat.

Toph patted the seat next to her, gesturing for their two friends to sit with them. Throwing an arm around the tanned male to her left, she announced, with a mischievous grin, "Snoozles has a crush."

A crush, indeed.

Sokka cradled his head in his hands. This was going to be a long season.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too much to say about this chapter. More cross-posting!
> 
> Enjoy!

By the time the Earth Kingdom Marching Invitational rolled around two weeks later, the only thing Sokka had been able to figure out was what school his "crush" attended. The hot drummer guy was from Fire Nation Academy-he was on the field along with his drum majors and color guard captain during the award ceremonies the night of that first competition. So, scratch the only; Sokka knew what school he went to, and that he was the percussion section leader.

But still, that wasn't much. The trumpet player let out a small groan as he leaned back in his bus seat. He had a lot more recon to do.

"You've done that about fifty times in the last two minutes," Toph said from next to him, taking the earbud out of her left ear. "It's getting kind of annoying."

"Sorry," Sokka muttered, resorting to staring sullenly out the window. He could feel his best friend's sightless gaze aimed in his general direction, and it burned with questions that didn't need to be asked aloud. "I'm kinda hoping to run into that guy tonight...," he said idly.

Switching off her iPod, Toph stored it in the pocket of her cargo shorts dangling from the hangar next to her. "I hope you do too, because honestly, you're no fun when you're busy emoing in a corner," the young percussionist stated bluntly, punching the tanned teen in the arm. "'Sides, you need to have a good relationship for once. Anything is better than dating some floozy flute player." As much as she tried to restrain herself, Toph couldn't help but snicker when Sokka let out an even louder groan than his previous fifty.

"Spirits, don't remind me," he urged, running his fingers along the buzzed sides of his head. A year and a half back, he'd briefly dated Yue, the mayor's daughter. But about two weeks in, a bunch of drama about her father trying to set her up with Hahn and other things of such nature became a bit too much for Sokka to handle—that, and he had just begun questioning his sexuality, suddenly finding that some of the guys in his band looked a little _too good_ in uniform—so he broke it off rather quickly.

However, this was definitely no time to be marching down memory lane. By the time the bus was rolling and on its way to Earth Kingdom High School two towns over, Sokka had already lost himself in his own musings. Would he really see that guy again? He felt so silly being unable to banish the percussionist from his thoughts for more than ten seconds. Shouldn't he be focusing on the show—the fact that they were due to perform in three hours' time, and he had so many things to improve on since their last competition? When they watched their performance video in class the Monday after, Sokka noticed _so many_ things he had done wrong; he missed a step-off after the two-set hold in third production, his trumpet went flat on a couple notes during the ballad…not to mention his entire section just _couldn't_ stay together in drill formations. He would never hear the end of it from Hahn, the bastard.

" _You're such a disgrace, Sokka; you need to take control of your section like a_ real _leader."_

Shaking his head and wishing for his self-depreciating thoughts to somehow fly out through his ears from the motion, the brunet instead tuned in to the subtle drumming of Toph's thumbs on her thighs. Once a percussionist, always a percussionist, he supposed. "Hey," he spoke up, gaining the instant attention of his best friend. "Is EKH actually competing today, or are they just the exhibition?"

Toph folded her arms behind her head and lazed back in her seat. "I think they're competing," she said after a few moments of deep thought—though it surely didn't look like it, from her laid-back posture. "I wouldn't worry, though; just 'cause it's their turf doesn't mean they'll do well. Their drum line sucks." The blind girl couldn't hold back the snort that escaped her turned-up nose. "Your boyfriend's line is much better."

' _Boyfriend? Yeah, I wish_ ,' Sokka thought. "Good to know," was what he ended up saying aloud. He opened his mouth to say something else, mostly pertaining to said Fire Nation Academy drummer, but Hahn's arrogant tenor commanded silence and attention from the entire bus.

"Listen up, guys," he said much louder than was necessary. Sokka winced; he thought his ears might be bleeding slightly. "We have to unload and get to practice as soon as we get there. Guard, finish whatever _hair and make-up_ you need to here on the bus, because we don't have time to fool around before show. Battery, if any one of you drops a stick in show _again_ , I will personally hang you from a tree by your toenails. The rest of you, get down to business the second you get off this bus. Make this performance better than the _disaster_ last time." The conceited drum major paused his speech to pointedly glare at all of his peers, lingering just a little too long on Sokka, who returned the leer just as intensely. "That's all for now."

Everyone waited until Hahn sat back down in his front-row seat before resuming their idle chatter and whatnot. The trumpet player crossed his arms and pouted, much like a child denied an extra cookie at snack time. "What the hell's _his_ problem? He's had it out for me since we were kids. Spirits…"

The cheap pleather of the seat cushion squeaked in protest as Toph shifted her butt a bit. "He's just jealous," she supplied nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "Even I can see that, and I can't _see_."

"Dunno what he has to be jealous of," Sokka muttered, voice laced with doubt and contempt.

Toph didn't reply—the tanned teen figured she'd gotten sick of his "emoing." No surprise, there; truth be told, he was getting sick of it himself. But everything seemed to be stressing him out lately, like doing well in show, being a good section leader, putting up with Hahn and his constant dickery, graduating this year, crushing on a guy _he didn't even know_. Why couldn't high school be over already?

* * *

He must have dozed off amidst his angsty inner monologues, because the next thing he remembered, Sokka woke up choking on copious amounts of hairspray that couldn't possibly be good for _anyone's_ health. His eyes swelled and involuntary tears made themselves known, prickling in the corners of his sockets. Letting out a cough, he covered his mouth and nose with a sweaty hand.

"I swear they're trying to give us cancer," the young percussionist next to him said, her voice nasally from plugging her nose.

"I couldn't agree more," Sokka finally said after hacking up a lung. "The color guard is single-handedly contributing to global warming,"

There was a pregnant pause before both band geeks burst into laughter, followed by Toph punching her older friend in the arm affectionately. "There you go, Snoozles; I was wondering when you'd start saying lame and funny things again."

Sokka wanted to be mad, even a little bit, but with the genuine flash of her pearly whites, he just couldn't. But of course the fun was short-lived, interrupted once again by Hahn's oh-so-important announcement.

"All right, guys. Get to work! We have forty-five minutes to practice!" he yelled to the entire bus as one third of the band scrambled to slip on their uniform jackets and get the hell off the giant yellow vehicle. Sokka and Toph were among the first people outside, upon which moment they had to split from each other. They exchanged wishes of good luck and Toph left with the drum line as Sokka stood idly by, waiting for the rest of the trumpet section to disembark from the other two buses.

"We need to work on a few measures in the middle of the closer," Sokka instructed once the other nine trumpet players accumulated around him. They traveled together to retrieve their instruments from the equipment truck, then they set right to business. The senior had them form a three-by-three block and proceeded to perfect their playing, using every single available second to improve his section's musicianship—even picking up his own trumpet to play along, fixing some of his personal playing errors as well. By the time the band was called back together, Sokka felt very proud of his section. They got a lot of work done, and he was sure this show would be a definite improvement.

He held his trumpet still in front of his face as he stood at attention with the rest of the ensemble. His crystal blue eyes glanced around every which way—not out of anxiety, merely to take in his surroundings. They still had to spend another five minutes or so in the end zone, waiting for their allotted time to step on to the field of competition.

The erratic darting back and forth of his irises stilled, however, finding a target to lock onto.

It was _him_ …right there on the field, in his crisp and sleek black uniform, accented with the familiar red stripe down the pant leg. The uniform jacket hugged the drummer's broad shoulders, red and gold accents draping off his frame and threading through the fabric. The black strap of his shako rested just below his mouth—he probably could have bitten down on it if he shifted those tightly-drawn lips just a smidgen. His drumsticks struck the heads of his instrument so quickly that they looked like blurs from Sokka's vision. The tanned boy made a mental note that this guy played tenor drums.

The Water Tribe teen was so enraptured by the scarred percussionist that he almost hadn't noticed the Fire Nation Academy's show had ended, and it was just about time for his own band to march their way across the turf. Sokka made sure to angle his head straight forward, standing perfectly at attention, but still regarded his crush with unwavering focus. If only Sokka were that attentive during show; he couldn't help but admire the completely stoic and concentrated look creasing the beautiful marred face of the quad player.

The female drum major bore a striking resemblance to the current object of Sokka's affection, he noticed vaguely as he watched the competing ensemble head off the field in perfect unison. For the most blissful of moments, lovely amber eyes met his curious azure stare. Suddenly, Sokka's navy blue and white uniform felt just a little too hot and suffocating for his liking. The second was gone as quickly as it had come, however, and the trumpet player found himself marching mechanically past each stark white yard line with the rest of his band.

He halted his steps at his beginning drill spot for the opener, standing as the starting point for the small arc his fellow trumpet players would soon form. For some unexplained reason, Sokka felt a sudden burst of…he wasn't sure he'd call it confidence, maybe determination? Drive? The burning desire to blow this show out of the water, prove just how good he was—good enough for drummer boy—sent red-hot adrenaline coursing through his veins. He was totally going to _rock_ this performance. He watched with anticipation as Hahn rose to the podium. His left foot twitched as the conceited drum major began the count-off.

' _I'll show 'em_ ,' were Sokka's final thoughts as he raised the metal mouthpiece to his lips and tooted the first note of the show.

* * *

It wasn't until about an hour afterwards that Sokka felt he could breathe normally again, versus gulping oxygen into his lungs. He couldn't help his excitement, though. The show was _amazing_ —at least from his standpoint. He had hit every step perfectly, articulated every note flawlessly and with purpose. Not even grumpy old Pakku had anything bad to say to him following the performance. He was supposed to be looking for his friends, but Sokka was currently waltzing on cloud nine, leaving the entire world behind. He was so high in the sky that he hadn't realized he ran head-on into another individual until he fell onto the concrete, nursing a now surely-bruised butt.

"Guh, sorry about that," the tanned boy muttered lamely, feeling too embarrassed to even spare a glance at the guy sitting opposite him on the ground.

"It's all right, my fault," said a velvety, yet slightly raspy voice in response. The boy rose swiftly to his feet, proceeding then to offer a pale hand to the trumpet player. "Here, lemme help you up."

"Thanks, I—"

Sokka was mere centimeters away from grabbing the guy's hand when his jaw suddenly dropped to the ground. Staring _right down at him_ , with the dark scar and shaggy black hair and honey eyes, was drummer boy. Sokka swallowed hard before taking a too-tight grip on the extended limb. He was surprised at the ease with which the Fire Nation Academy student pulled him to his feet. Their hands stayed clasped together for a little longer than was necessary; Sokka thought that if he let go too soon, his legs would turn to jelly and he'd fall right back down on his ass.

The pale boy allowed his toned arm to fall lazily to his side. "So, you go to WTH?" he asked, noticing the shorter male still had his tell-tale uniform pants on.

Sokka was definitely not used to looking _up_ at people to converse. Now that they were standing face-to-face, he realized that the percussionist was indeed taller than he, by a few inches. "Yeah. We just call it Water Tribe, though. WTH is a pretty shitty acronym," he replied with his trademark goofy grin, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. His comment earned a light chuckle from the other musician.

"Kind of like FNA, especially when people pronounce it 'effin-ay.'" Both boys couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous names of their schools. Someone had surely given them stupid names on purpose, right? "I'm Zuko."

"Sokka," the trumpet player said, his grin not faltering in the slightest despite the fact he thought his insides were going to explode from sheer happiness. After two dreadful weeks of knowing virtually nothing about this guy, at least now he knew his _name_. "I, uh…was actually gonna go get something to eat when we collided. Wanna tag along?" he asked, hoping to whatever spirits up there he didn't sound too awkward. Truth be told, he wasn't _actually_ heading for the concessions, but now that he was at least on first-name basis with his crush, there was no way he would subject the poor guy to Toph's incessant teasing this early on.

"Sure, I was headed there, too," Zuko said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The walk to the concession stand was pretty quiet and uneventful, but Sokka didn't mind; this was the first time he was ever able to really look at the other boy up close. Zuko was a lot lankier than he thought a percussionist should be, but he was also sure that there was not a single ounce of fat on that tall, pale-skinned musician. He was deliciously muscular and toned, that much Sokka could tell just by his arms. He had drummer's chops.

"So…what do you play?" Sokka asked for the sake of casual conversation, despite already knowing Zuko's instrument of choice. He didn't want to seem like a stalker or something. He also hoped the other didn't notice the slight cracking of his voice with that question. Stupid puberty or something.

Zuko flexed his right hand. "Quads," he said nonchalantly. "And you play trumpet, right?"

Sokka started. How did Zuko know what he played? Surely he hadn't _actually_ known; it was just a lucky guess, right? It wasn't like Sokka was really an extraordinary person worth paying much attention to half the time. "Y-yeah," he all but choked out. "You're looking at first chair and section leader," he tacked on, a nice little toot to his own horn.

"Neat," Zuko said as they both came to a stop, waiting in the long line for food and drinks. "You're a pretty good musician, so that's really no surprise."

Sokka couldn't decide what made him blush more—the amazingly wonderful compliment or the charming half-smile tugging at the drummer's lips. "Thanks. I guess you've seen my band on the field, huh?"

They both took a few steps forward as the line progressed. "Yeah. I really like your guys' show. Into the Abyss is what it's called, right?"

"Yeah," Sokka nodded, his thick wolf tail bobbing slightly. "It's definitely my favourite of all the shows I've played. What's your guys' show?"

"It's called Radiant Dawn. Our instructors Lo and Li chose it at the request of my dad," Zuko said. He ran a hand through his dark, messy locks. A less-than-pleasant expression befell the pale boy's face for a few moments, but before Sokka even had a chance to take much note of it, it was their turn to order.

"Hi, I'm Song, what can I get you guys?" the cheery brunette asked from behind the counter.

"Can I have a large lychee tea, please?" Zuko asked, already reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

"I didn't peg you for a tea person," the tanned teen said, a light smile in his clear blue eyes that matched the one on his lips.

Zuko paid Song exact change and took his steaming post-consumer paper cup, ignoring the dreamy look the girl was shooting his way. "I lived with my uncle for a while; he owns a tea shop, right around here actually." The percussionist paused for a moment to sip his tea, the liquid warming him as it went down. "I used to hate it, but it grew on me, I guess."

"Excuse me! Did you want to order something, too?" Song interrupted, her gaze locked on Sokka.

"Oh, sorry!" the addressed boy apologized hastily. "Um, do you have any dried sea prunes?"

"No, we don't. We have dried moon peaches, though, if that's all right," Song offered.

"Sure, that's fine." The trumpet player exchanged some cash for the bag of fruit, telling the nice girl to keep the change before heading back toward the bleachers with Zuko.

"Sea prunes. _Really_?" Zuko asked somewhat incredulously as he sipped his lychee tea with the hint of a grin.

"Are you kidding? I _love_ sea prunes!" Sokka exclaimed through a mouthful of moon peaches—probably not the best impression to leave his love interest with, but hell, he was _hungry_. "My mom used to stew them for dinner all the time." He swallowed his food as a look of nostalgia etched across his facial features. His mom's stewed sea prunes were the _best_ in the world. Gran-Gran's were good, sure, but they didn't even compare.

"Does she not make them anymore?" the pale teen asked as the two weaved through a crowd of band geeks, aiming to claim an empty spot just a few rows down.

Sokka's steps suddenly felt much heavier as he trotted down the concrete steps, his gaze narrowing in on the bag of moon peaches in his grasp. "My…my mom died a few years ago…," he admitted quietly as he lowered himself onto the cold metal bleacher next to Zuko. His fingers tightened on his snack, so much that the digits started to go all numb and tingly. He was only brought out of his stupor when he saw a pale hand on top of his much darker one.

"…I'm sorry to hear that," Zuko replied just as quietly as Sokka had spoken. "My mom's not around either…so I guess we have that in common."

Sokka was taken aback by the other's confession, but he felt slight relief at the revelation. "Heh…I guess so."

Their conversation was much lighter after glossing the topic of their mothers. Sokka learned that Zuko lived with his father and a younger sister (who actually turned out to be Fire Nation Academy's drum major; Zuko had laughed when Sokka said that she looked kind of scary, saying that was a pretty astute assumption). He found out that he was into martial arts (particularly Nothern Xiaolin kung fu) and fighting with twin swords. He was a senior, and turned 18 in July before the school year started—something about custody issues between his dad and his uncle caused him to repeat a year.

In return, Sokka shared that he also lived with his dad and younger sister, that he had been practicing with a sword for a couple years, and that he was a senior as well, though he was still 17—18 in December, though! He made sure to point that out with extra emphasis, drawing forth a few chuckles from the paler kid. He was about to regale Zuko with the details on the time he broke his leg jumping off the roof of the house when the two of them were interrupted.

' _Spirits be damned, what is with all these interruptions?_ ' Sokka thought somewhat bitterly.

"Zuko, come on. Awards are in twenty minutes," commanded a stern, feminine voice from a few rows up. Sokka recognized her as Zuko's sister (who he now knew as Azula).

"Coming," came the drummer's exasperated reply as he finished off his tea. "Gotta go, Sokka. Duty calls," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Wait a sec, before you go," Sokka said, digging through his pockets for his phone. He let out a small, "Aha!" when he found it and yanked it out. "Here, smile!" He snapped a picture, then frowned at the image that popped up on the screen. "I told you to smile."

"Drummers never smile for pictures," Zuko joked as he took a photo of Sokka as well. They exchanged phones, keying their own numbers into the other's cellular device. Once everything was entered and saved into their respective contact lists, they switched back their phones and Zuko leapt from his seat to catch up with his horrifying sibling. "See you, Sokka! Text me!"

The tanned boy could only wave frantically until the shaggy-haired teen was up the stairs and out of sight. An endearing grin lit up his entire face as he stared down at the photo displayed on the screen of his cell. His heart fluttered, beating madly against his ribcage. He was finally getting somewhere, and he prayed to the Spirits that he wouldn't do anything to screw up what was starting out to be a beautiful friendship.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that I wrote before the five-year hiatus of this fic. I have started the next chapter, so I'm hoping it'll be up soon.
> 
> Those of you who have been in the A:tLA fandom since it aired might recognize the movie Sokka and Zuko go to see in this chapter. Shoutout to GanXingba for creating such classic, hilarious content way back in the day. :3
> 
> One thing I would like to ask anyone who reads this fic: I started writing this fic before Korra aired, but should I include Korra characters in this or just leave it strictly A:tLA characters? I'd appreciate your thoughts and feedback!
> 
> Enjoy!

A tanned, trembling thumb hovered over the send button. Sokka reread the text another ten times, repeating the words at light speed in his brain. The message itself was simple enough- _Hey, when's your practice over? Thought we could catch a movie_. What a typical, cliché thing to do for a first date.

Not that it was even a date to begin with, as much as Sokka wanted it to be. But even by his standards, it was pretty lame. Oh well. It wasn't as if Zuko would think of it as a date, right?

Holding his breath, he finally manned up enough to hit that little magical button. A winged envelope flew across his phone's backlit screen, and he hastily shoved the mobile device into his pocket before he dwelled on it even more than was necessary. Now to wait for a response.

The trumpet player reclined a bit in the driver's seat, drumming his still somewhat shaky thumb on the steering wheel. Katara was sure taking forever packing up all of her stuff. Granted, she had several different pieces of equipment to stow away while Sokka only had a small instrument, but it still shouldn't take twenty minutes after practice to put everything in the guard closet. He was about to click the clock button on his car's radio when he finally spotted his sister jogging down the hill to the senior parking lot.

"Took you long enough. Were you trying to hide a dead body or something?" Sokka teased as Katara slid into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut.

"Oh, just shut up and drive," Katara snapped back, but not without a grin.

Sokka turned the key in the ignition, and his poor old car sputtered to life. Katara flipped through the stations for a few minutes, ultimately deciding to forego he radio altogether due to lack of good music. The siblings cruised along in a comfortable silence until Sokka's phone sang out a tune by Chong and the Nomads.

"Hey, Katara, see who texted me," Sokka said, fishing his phone out of his pocket and handing it over to his sister, all the while keeping his eyes on the road. Katara punched in her brother's security code, then proceeded to click on the "New Message" button. The blinking envelope opened up on the screen, revealing the text within.

"Sure. You can pick the movie. I get out of practice at six," the guard girl recited in the worst monotone ever. "It's from… _ohhh_ ," she added, smirking in the most evil of fashions. "Are you two going on a _date_?"

If Sokka weren't stopped at a red light, he probably would have wrecked the car.

"N-no! It's not a date!" he exclaimed a little too loudly, his voice cracking. "We're just hanging out! He doesn't know I like him like that!" The light turned green, and the trumpet player coaxed his car to accelerate. People still honked and passed him for going to too slow. "Besides, I don't think he's even…you know," he muttered dejectedly.

Katara's smirk turned down into a frown at that. "Well…I guess use tonight to find out for sure. Dig into his dating past and whatnot." She held his phone poised at the ready. "Do you want me to text him back for you?"

Sokka pondered for a moment, applying the brakes for the stop sign coming up. "Text back, 'Cool, is the Red Dragon Theater okay? I think they're playing _Blue Spirit II_.'"

After some vigorous typing on Katara's part, she slid Sokka's phone shut and set it in the cup holder between their seats. "Sent. And…for what it's worth, I hope everything works out for you."

The tanned teen smiled just a bit. "Thanks, sis."

* * *

Sokka rocked back and forth on his feet, hands shoved into his pockets in the most nonchalant manner he could manage. Truth be told, he was downright nervous. He hadn't seen Zuko since the competition a week and a half ago. Sure, they'd texted a bit back and forth, and even found each other on Facebook. But just the thought that they would physically be in each other's presence was enough to send Sokka's mind reeling. The fact that he grew enough balls to even ask the guy to a movie still shocked him. Now that the deed was done, there was no turning back.

The tanned boy checked his watch. The movie didn't start for another half hour. He then proceeded to check his phone, to make sure he hadn't received any texts from Zuko about having to cancel or something.

"Hey."

"Ack!"

A pale hand saved Sokka from falling ass backwards onto the pavement. Zuko pulled his shorter friend forward slightly, his other hand on his shoulder to help stabilize him.

"Sorry…uh, didn't mean to scare you," the percussionist said with an awkward smile, letting go of Sokka once he could stand properly on his own two feet.

"Ha, i-it's okay," Sokka replied, rubbing at the back of his neck and avoiding Zuko's golden gaze at all costs. "Thanks for coming."

"No prob. I needed to stay out of the house for a while tonight," Zuko said, sliding his own hands into the pockets of his burgundy hoodie.

The both of them just stood there, glancing at everything but each other, until Sokka cleared his throat a bit too loudly.

"Um…we should go inside. So we can get good seats, and some popcorn and stuff," he suggested, finally able to make some semblance of eye contact with Zuko. The taller teen nodded in agreement, and the two entered the theater together.

Minutes later, with a giant tub of popcorn and two large drinks in hand, Sokka and Zuko darted up the steps to snag the best seats in the house. They claimed the middle chairs in the very top row—the perfect spot to see the entire span of the widescreen canvas. They still had about ten minutes until the previews were set to start.

"So how was practice?" Sokka asked as casually as possible, sipping his Cloud Dew soda.

Zuko shrugged and chewed a piece of popcorn. "Same as usual. Did some drill downs, played the drums, kicked a few freshman around."

"Sounds exciting." Sokka couldn't help the sarcasm that bled into his tone.

"Oh yeah," Zuko said with a lopsided grin. "All in a day's work, I guess."

Sokka nodded and reached into the tub for some popcorn, his hand coming into contact with…something that was most definitely not popcorn. Both boys snatched their hands away as if they'd submerged them into a vat of boiling water by accident. They muttered their apologies, and in silence mutually agreed to avoid the popcorn tub for the time being.

"So…you had practice today too, right?" Zuko asked to ease the tension.

"Yeah. Just until five. Though it felt more like a sectional than anything, because my dumbass drum major wouldn't let the trumpet section back in the band until I could get everyone to march right. But you should have seen the woodwinds! They're even worse than my trumpets." Sokka sank a bit deeper into his chair, putting his feet upon the back of the chair in front of him. "I swear to Spirits, Hahn has had it out for me since we were kids. And now that he's drum major, he's making me miserable."

Zuko gave a humorless laugh and reclined back into his seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Vengeful drum majors. Hear you loud and clear."

"If I didn't love marching band so much, I would quit so fast," the tanned boy admitted, glancing over at Zuko, who now had a pensive, withdrawn expression creasing his features. In turn, Sokka frowned a bit himself. He was about to say something else when the lights in the theater dimmed. "I'll warn you, I like to make fun of previews. Sorry if that annoys you."

Apparently now it was safe to eat again, because Zuko took a handful of popcorn and tipped the bucket toward Sokka in offering. "It's good. I do that, too."

Shortly after, the trailer for the first of many bad movies appeared on the giant canvas screen, and Sokka and Zuko mocked and made fun of it accordingly, and all the previews following. Their shenanigans didn't stop with the previews, though—they continued well into the motion picture itself. By the time the movie was over, the two of them were stumbling out of the theater giggling like idiots.

"That movie was so depressingly _bad_!" Sokka cried out, clutching his sides in laugther, afraid they'd split open.

"Yeah. Blue Spirit's one-liners were so awful. 'I'm here to kick ass and eat fire flakes, and I'm all out of fire flakes.' _Gold_." Zuko recited the line in the most ridiculous raspy, manly voice he could muster. At that, both boys doubled over in laughter, barely able to hold themselves up.

"Even the title is stupid—Blue Spirit II: Return of the Revenge with a Vengeance? Why did I even suggest that movie?" Sokka wondered aloud despite knowing exactly why he picked the movie, wiping the tears from his eyes and trying to catch his breath. His stomach hurt so badly from laughing. By morning, he was sure to have abs of steel from it.

"I don't know, but it was hilarious," Zuko replied, coughing a little to regain his composure. He hadn't laughed like that in a long time. His cheeks hurt from the wide grin that had broken across his features. "Honestly, I don't even like action movies all that much."

At that, Sokka's mind came to a screeching halt, leaving skid marks on his mental roads. The _entire reason_ he chose that film was because he was convinced Zuko was the type to like mindless action with little plot. This realization both excited and depressed Sokka—on one hand, he was rather pleased to find out that neither of them had a liking for these kinds of movies, but on the other hand, this meant that Sokka had _so much more_ to learn about Zuko. The percussionist was turning out to be a lot different than Sokka had imagined him to be the first time he laid eyes on him. He let out a laugh despite himself and said, "That's funny, 'cause I don't either."

The surprised look on Zuko's face was priceless. Sokka took a mental photograph of it. "What kind of movies do you like, then?"

A light flush lit up Sokka's cheeks. His preferred choice in genre was definitely embarrassing to admit; not many knew about it save his sister, Aang, and Toph. "Ah…well…you promise not to laugh?"

"Promise," Zuko said with a nod.

Sokka steeled himself. Okay, here goes nothing. Taking a deep breath, he muttered, "I like romantic comedies the best."

He waited for the laughter, the teasing, the jabbing, at his choice in movies.

However, what he ended up getting was, "Dude, me too."

It was now the trumpet player's turn to look completely shocked. "No fucking way."

"Y-yeah," Zuko said, suddenly bashful. "I think they're cute."

"Man, I wish I had known that so we didn't have to sit through a movie that totally sucked!" Sokka cried out, exasperated. Granted, he still had fun making rude and hilarious comments throughout the entire thing.

"We can do that next time, if you want…"

Sokka's ears homed in on those two words right before the last three. Next time. Next. Time. Holy shit, Zuko said next time! There would actually be a _next time_!

Unfortunately, Zuko had to break through Sokka's elation by announcing, "I should probably get going. It's getting late."

"Oh…oh, yeah, right. I can walk you to your car." Receiving a nod in reply, Sokka then followed Zuko to his car—a surprisingly old and beat-up vehicle not unlike his own. He had pictured the drummer to drive some sleek, sexy, fancy car or something. He definitely didn't expect the dented, rusting, burgundy truck before his eyes.

"I know, my truck looks like shit," Zuko said, shoving the key into the door and trying to twist it. Unlocking his car was a difficult process sometimes. The key liked to jam itself more often than not.

"Dude, it's cool. My car looks about the same," Sokka said with a grin, pushing Zuko aside to aid him in unlocking the door. With a few twists and tugs, he was finally able to get the thing to budge, and pulled the door open for Zuko with a click and thunk. "Here ya go."

"Thanks," Zuko said, taking his keys and tossing them onto the driver's seat. He stood awkwardly outside of his truck, one hand gripping the window frame. Sokka was feeling the same awkwardness, both of them unsure of what to say to the other, neither really wanting to leave.

"Well, uh…this was a lot of fun," Sokka said, nervously but with sincerity. "You free tomorrow? Maybe we can grab dinner."

"Okay. That sounds good." Zuko gave an affirmative nod. "Text me after school."

"I will." After that, Sokka paused. His heart was pounding in his chest. He could vaguely feel his fingers beginning to twitch and shake. He wanted so badly to lean forward and give Zuko a goodnight kiss, or at least a hug before leaving. But that wouldn't be appropriate at all. Not in the slightest. Instead, he held out his hand for handshake. "Um, see you tomorrow, then."

Zuko reached out and took Sokka's hand in a firm, assured grip, shaking it a few times before letting go. "Yeah. Have a good night."

"You too."

With that, Zuko slid himself into his truck and shut the door. He gave Sokka a little wave through the window, which Sokka returned before turning and heading to his own car. Once inside, he locked the doors and rested his head against the steering wheel with a sigh. He should have been happy that he was going to hang out with Zuko again, right? He should have been happy that they had the same taste in movies, and that their cars were just as old and shitty as each other's. So…why was he feeling like a ten-ton flying bison was dropped into the pit of his stomach?

He was glad that he was getting the chance to be closer to Zuko, but that constant fear still burned strong. What if Zuko didn't think of him romantically? What if, in their time together, Sokka fell even harder for Zuko only to be rejected?

He had to tell him. Had to tell Zuko his feelings, had to be honest with himself and the other boy. Had to find out if this was even going anywhere.

He'd do that when they met for dinner tomorrow, Spirits be damned.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm here with the next chapter! I thought we'd get a little look into Zuko's life before continuing on with Sokka's POV, since the majority of this fic is gonna be from his perspective. But I feel like it makes the story a bit more complete to have Zuko's side interspersed here and there!
> 
> This has not been beta'd. I've gone over it myself to edit and such, but if you find any errors, please feel free to point them out to me! Also, if you or anyone you know is interested in being a beta for me, please let me know. I do not have one currently and I think it would be a big help for me. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Been here long?”

Zuko halted the rattling of his drumsticks on his practice pad, glancing up at the familiar voice. He gave a tiny smile and slid his pile of blankets over as Mai hopped into the bed of his truck. “Hey, Mai,” he said, tapping out some erratic beats on his pad.

“You could have called me.” Mai said sternly, fixing Zuko with a hard stare that the scarred teen promptly ignored. “I have a couch for you to sleep on.”

His drumming came to a stuttering stop and Zuko let out an exaggerated sigh. “It was late. I didn’t want to bother you,” he said lamely, knowing full well that it wasn’t a very valid excuse. The first couple times his father kicked him out of the house, he _had_ gone to Mai. But when the third time became the fourth became the fifth and so on, he felt like a bother and just started sleeping in his truck when the weather allowed. He couldn’t wait until the end of the school year. Then he could move back in with his uncle after graduation until he got on his feet.

And he was used to Mai’s lectures and knowing stares at this point. When she still didn’t say anything, Zuko sighed again and hung his head. “If it was too cold out, I would have come to you. You know that.”

“You damn well better next time,” Mai resigned, giving Zuko a half-hearted punch in the shoulder. He hissed in pain at the contact and Mai froze. “Oh no…your father didn’t…did he?”

Rubbing at his shoulder, Zuko shook his head. “No. It’s just sore from my drum harness,” he assured her. She eyed him for a few more seconds, trying to size him up and make sure he wasn’t lying—which he wasn’t, this time. When she was sure enough of his honesty, she did offer a tiny smile at her friend.

“Why’d he kick you out now?” she asked.

The drummer snorted. “Came home ‘too late.’” He did air quotes. “Even though I already told him I was going out last night after practice.”

“Oh yeah, you went out with that Water Tribe guy,” Mai remembered. She didn’t have time to finish, though, because the first bell rang then, urging them to get to class.

“Tell me about it later, okay?” Mai said.

Zuko nodded in promise as he packed up his things and got ready to head to class.

* * *

The drummer spent the entire school day an anxious mess, waiting for everything to be over and waiting for a text from Sokka. He still felt sort of embarrassed by the whole thing, never really having any romantic attachments to anyone before now. There was a boy at his old high school that was into him, but Zuko never felt the same. It was an awkward situation.

He told Mai during lunch about the night before, how well it seemed to go. She was happy and supportive of him, and hoped for the best. He appreciated at least having one person in his life like that. His uncle was like that, too, but he didn’t get to see him much these days.

Finally, the school day was over. And since they didn’t have practice that day, Zuko was left peacefully alone in the band room. He dug his quads out from the percussion closet and set them up on a stand so he could practice. No use in using his harness if he was staying indoors. He stood in position, twirling his mallets in his hands without actually playing anything yet. He started marching in place, barely picking up his feet from the carpet, trying to capture the tempo of first production without the use of a metronome. Finally, he raised his mallets and began pounding rhythmically on the drum heads.

He made it through the entirety of first and half of second before Azula made her appearance, leaning on the frame of the open doors of the band room. She smirked as she watched her brother play. “You’re totally off-beat,” she yelled over the noise of his drums.

Zuko glared up at his sister, but did not stop playing. He held her gaze through the rest of the set, and when he prepared for third, Azula let out a laugh.

“Even with all this practice, you still won’t improve much,” she said condescendingly, waving her hand. “I don’t even know how you became section leader. Family favor, maybe?”

That made him tense. Zuko held his mallets in a death grip, his knuckles blanching. “Like this family ever does me any favors,” he said through gritted teeth and finally breaking eye contact. He drummed a little harder than necessary on his tenors, just a random and intense beat rather than what he’d intended on practicing.

Azula feigned offense at his comment, but she soon grew bored of taunting her brother. It was increasingly difficult to get a rise out of him lately. She just rolled her eyes and left him to pound out his angry beats alone.

After she left, Zuko let out a monstrous sigh and ceased drumming entirely. He lowered himself to the floor, sitting cross-legged and dropping his mallets at his sides. He could leave. He really could. He was already eighteen. The custody battle he’d spent almost a year and a half suffering through barely mattered now that he was a legal adult. He could do what he wanted, right?

So, what was keeping him in that awful household? He didn’t know anymore.

Maybe...maybe he just wanted to prove himself. Prove that he wasn’t as worthless as his father told him he was all his life. But how much more could he take before enough was enough? He growled and ruffled his shaggy hair, blunt nails scratching at his scalp.

He felt vibrating in the pocket of his jeans and he froze, his heart skipping a beat. Quickly he pulled his phone out, a relieved smile appearing on his face when he saw a text message from Sokka.

_Sorry, emergency sectional after school. Done now. When did you wanna meet?_

Zuko texted back with shaking fingers.

_In about an hour, the Cabbage Man Diner by the movie theater?_

He was already packing up his drums to leave when his phone vibrated with a reply.

_Sounds good. See you soon!_

Zuko had to take a deep breath or two to try and get his heartbeat to slow down. It was hard to contain his excitement at seeing Sokka again. He stared at his phone screen for a few moments, Sokka’s goofy contact photo looking back up at him. His cheeks flushed and he put his phone back in his pocket. The Water Tribe boy really was a cutie.

Not only that, but the two of them seemed to have a lot in common. Granted, Zuko still had so much more to learn about his crush, but they were off to a great start so far. Sokka was so funny and awkward, but genuine. Zuko didn’t have a lot of people in his life like that--people who he could trust, people he knew weren’t deceiving him. Using him.

The percussionist took another deep breath, this time trying to rid his mind of all the negative thoughts that crept back up on the daily. He wanted to enjoy his time with his new friend without being bogged down by all the family baggage he carried with him.

Once he packed up all his stuff, Zuko switched the light off in the band room and let the door shut gently behind him. He wandered through the nearly empty halls of his school, heading to the opposite end where the senior parking lot was located. He twirled his key ring around on his index finger, calmed by the rhythmic tapping of his keys on his hand. As he approached his truck, he saw a familiar figure leaning against the tailgate.

“I thought you’d already gone home,” he said to Mai as he tossed his backpack into the bed of his truck.

“I wanted to catch you before you left,” Mai replied. “I figure telling you in person might be more effective than texting you.”

Zuko tilted his head, a metaphorical question mark appearing above his head.

Mai sighed. “I want you to promise me that if your dad kicks you out again tonight, you’ll come stay at my house. No more of this sleeping in your truck shit. Got it?”

Zuko didn’t respond, instead looked at the ground to avoid his best friend’s insistent stare.

“ _Zuko_.”

“Alright, alright, fine. I will come over if he kicks me out again,” the drummer said in resignation. He really did appreciate Mai and her protectiveness over him. But he didn’t want to be a burden.

“Promise?” Mai asked, holding out her pinkie.

Without another word, Zuko raised his own pinkie and curled it around Mai’s. He gave their hands a small, affirmative shake before letting go.

“Good. Now, go have fun with your boyfriend.”

Zuko let out a nervous laugh. “Thanks, Mai.” He gave her a hug before waving her off. She waved as she headed to her own car. Zuko hopped in his truck and started the engine, but sat in park for a few moments.

Boyfriend. Oh, if only.

Putting his seatbelt on, Zuko threw his gear shift into drive and zoomed out of the parking lot, headed for the diner.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooo boy, this was a monster to write. I kept hitting block after block, because I had no idea how I wanted this thing to pan out. But we got there in the end, and I'm satisfied for now. I'm still struggling a little bit with Sokka and trying to determine the challenges in his life, but I'm hoping they'll just kind of naturally develop as the story goes along. To be honest, I'm writing this without any real plan aside from the big, pivotal plot point and a general ending in mind. Otherwise, I'm kind of just winging it.
> 
> This chapter is part of my NaNo project this year, in which I am working on several different in-progress works to see if I can't make a dent in them before the end of the year.
> 
> Not beta'd. Please feel free to point out any and all errors!
> 
> Enjoy!

Sokka smelled gross.

Just for one day a week, he’d love to go straight home and not worry about things like practice or football games after school. But Master Pakku (the fact that he had to call his own grandfather something as obnoxious as “Master” bugged Sokka  _ so much _ ) said every section needed to have a sectional after school today for even more practice. And Sokka was  _ tired _ .

Not to mention the heat this time of the season was relentless, and getting all sweaty and stinky took no time at all. His shirt ended up sticking to him like paste in less than five minutes of playing and marching.

“Alright, guys, that’s enough for today. We’ll work more on third production tomorrow at practice,” Sokka announced to his section, and they all nodded, looking relieved that he was letting them go five minutes early. He followed the other trumpet players up the long sidewalk from the field to the performing arts wing of the school, wiping the dripping sweat off his forehead. He’d have to go home and shower before he met up with Zuko. Otherwise, he’d end up killing the poor guy with his stench.

With every step he took, his stomach tightened more and more. Of course he was excited to see Zuko again tonight, but oh, Spirits, was he nervous. He didn’t want to come off too strong, admitting his crush this early in their friendship. Also, there was the fact that he never did find out Zuko’s inclinations. What if he wasn’t…

Sokka took a deep breath. Why was this so complicated?

“I can hear you thinking.”

Stopping dead in his tracks, Sokka spun around at the familiar voice. “Oh, hey, Toph.”

“‘Sup, Snoozles,” Toph greeted, standing far enough back from her best friend so as not to clobber him with her giant drum. “Overthinking your relationship problems again?”

Sokka barked a laugh and fell back to walk next to Toph. “There is no relationship to speak of, so I can’t have relationship problems.”

“Then why are you thinking so loudly about it?” Toph countered, to which Sokka didn’t have a comeback.

“I’m seeing him tonight,” he said, somewhat changing the topic. He held the door open for her when they reached the school. She stepped through and waited for him to follow her.

“Gonna confess?” she asked point-blank.

Sokka didn’t respond right away, favoring staring down at his trumpet as his fingers tapped the keys. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. 

Toph stopped to let Sokka walk into the band room first. “Well, in any case, you better shower before you go. You smell like ass.”

Despite himself, the trumpet player laughed. “You mean I can’t just marinate in body spray and call it good?”

“Not if you want anyone to stand within a five mile radius of you.” Toph hoisted her drum up to slip out of her harness and set the heavy instrument on the floor. “Which would be counterproductive to your date.”

He stopped himself before the usual ‘it’s not a date’ slipped out of his mouth. He just chuckled and put his trumpet away in its case, then helped Toph with her drum. “You need a ride home?”

“Nah, I’m good. My parents are picking me up ‘cause we have to go to some fancy dinner thing,” Toph said with a handwave. “I hate being dragged along to their stupid social gatherings.”

“Don’t blame ya,” Sokka said. “They sound dreadfully boring.”

“They  _ aaaaaare _ ,” the drummer groaned. Together, she and Sokka lifted her huge drum case and slid it onto the shelf where it belonged. Once both their instruments were stowed safely, they grabbed their backpacks from the far wall of the band room and headed outside together.   
  
"What time is your dinner thing over?" Sokka asked. "Just so I know when it's safe to call you later about tonight."   
  
"Probably no later than nine," Toph replied. "Pleeeeeease let me know how it goes. I don't need you emoing in a corner for the rest of the season."   
  
The tanned teen chuckled. "Duly noted. Oh, there are your parents."   
  
Toph groaned and dug her fingers into the skin under her eyes, dragging it down slightly and exposing her waterlines. "Time to go pretend I care about high society."   
  
The two best friends did a quick bro-fist and promised to talk later before Toph dragged her feet to her parents' awaiting vehicle. Sokka waved to them out of politeness, but they ignored him like they usually did. Oh well.   
  
Sokka twirled his keys around on his finger as he made his way to his car in the senior lot. He didn't have to wait for Katara today, since she and Aang were hanging out tonight. So he could just go home to shower and meet up with Zuko.   
  
Oh, wait. He almost forgot. Sokka pulled his phone out from his pocket and shot a text to the drummer, apologizing for the sectional after school and finding out what time he wanted to meet. He got a text back almost right away, and he couldn't fight down the blush or the bashful smile that overcame him. Spirits, he was in trouble.   
  
He sped home to destinkify himself, trying to keep his stomach from doing flips the entire time.

* * *

“That you, Sokka?” the voice of his father greeted as Sokka came in from the garage.

“Hey, Dad,” the teen called into the house, tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter instead of hanging them on the hook by the door where they belonged. Following the path through the kitchen to the living room, Sokka found his dad on the sofa mending one of the many wolf-print blankets they owned. His mother had loved wolves. She even had a collection of wolf statuettes and figures, which Hakoda still kept on display in his bedroom.

“Son, can you hand me those scissors there?” Hakoda asked, pinching the sewing needle between his teeth and tugging the thread tight. Nodding, Sokka grabbed the orange-handled scissors from the coffee table and handed them to his dad.

“Thanks. How was band?” Hakoda said as he snipped at the long thread.

“Meh. The usual,” Sokka replied with a shrug, readjusting his backpack strap on his shoulder after the motion made it slip. “Grampakku made every section have mandatory sectionals today for no reason.”

Hakoda chuckled. “Definitely sounds like your grandfather.”

Sokka shrugged again. “Well, I’m gonna go take a quick shower,” he announced, heading toward the stairs as he spoke. “Don’t worry about dinner tonight. Katara’s with Aang and I’m going out with a friend.”

“Your friend from that other school?”

Sokka stopped on the stairs. Turning back to his dad, he gave a faint smile. “Yeah. He’s a pretty cool dude.”

His dad gave him a knowing smile in return. “You have a good time, Sokka.”

Nodding, Sokka made his way upstairs without another word. He needed to hurry before he was late.

* * *

 

When Sokka pulled into the parking lot of the Cabbage Man Diner, he spotted a familiar burgundy truck parked near the back. He pulled into a space close by and killed his engine, sitting in his car for a moment to gather himself. Now that he was here, he was starting to get cold feet. He still hadn’t made up his mind if he was going to tell Zuko how he felt, and at this point, he wondered if he’d even have the courage to go in at all. His head smacked the top of the steering wheel and he let out an aggravated groan at himself.

“C’mon, Sokka. Don’t wimp out now. You were raised better than that,” he told himself, softly hitting his forehead against the steering wheel a few times in succession. Because beating himself in the head always helped, right?

Before he could talk himself out of staying for dinner, Sokka threw open his car door and got out. He dragged his feet a little in the gravel, listening to the way the pebbles scraped against the bottom of his sneakers. There was a little bell ring as he opened the door to the restaurant and stepped inside. 

Zuko was sitting in a corner booth in the back, staring down at the table and tapping out some kind of beat with his thumbs on the tabletop. He had a glass of water sitting in front of him, but it looked to be untouched, still full enough to barely stay beneath the rim of the glass.

No turning back now.

Swallowing hard, Sokka made his way over to the drummer.

“Hey,” he greeted.

Zuko looked up at Sokka, his hardened expression immediately melting into a softer, fonder one. “Hey, Sokka.”

And Sokka’s heart melted just the same. He slid into the seat across from Zuko, admiring the paler teen. He was wearing a red plaid shirt over a plain black T-shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and Sokka could plainly see his well-developed forearms. It made him self-conscious of his own smaller build. He was mostly lean muscle; it wasn’t like playing the trumpet lended itself to developing anything impressive. 

“I haven’t been here in a long time,” Zuko said, breaking the silence. He picked up the menu. “I don’t really know what’s good here anymore.”

If there was anything Sokka knew well, it was food. And he was happy when Zuko suggested this place, because it was one of Sokka’s lesser-known favorite places to eat. He didn’t even have to look at the menu to know what they offered here. “Well, it depends on what you like,” he said. “If you’re a meat guy, their bacon double cheeseburgers are definitely the way to go. Or, if you like breakfast food, their waffles are hands down some of the best I’ve ever had.”

Zuko looked thoughtful as he perused his menu. “What do you think about the ‘flam-e-o omelette’ thing?”

“Oh, it’s great! But really spicy. They add fire flakes to the cheese inside,” Sokka said. Maybe one day, he should be like that one guy on the food TV channel and go around to a bunch of different hole-in-the-wall restaurants to learn about their various foods.

Zuko nodded and set the menu down. “I think I’ll try that,” he said.

“I didn’t peg you for a spicy kind of guy,” Sokka admitted, smiling.

Zuko returned the smile, but it was much more subdued, as was his style. “Spicy foods are pretty much all I was raised on.”

“For me, it was stewed sea prunes and various types of jerky. My dad likes hunting and fishing.”

This was going well. Sokka had been afraid things would be super awkward, but just like the other times, they fell into conversation so easily. It was comfortable, being with Zuko. 

A waitress came and took their orders, and their conversation never paused the entire time between then and their food arriving. Eating didn’t deter them much, either--Sokka had a tendency to talk with his mouth full, much to a lot of peoples’ disgust. But Zuko didn’t seem to mind all that much.

Once they finished their food and their plates were cleared from the table, things grew quiet. The nerves settled in once more, and Sokka felt himself shiver. It wasn’t even cold in there, and he was even wearing a quarter-sleeve baseball top. He worried his lip and stared at Zuko, who hadn’t looked up at him for a few minutes.

Sokka sucked in a deep breath.

“Zuko, I--”

“Sokka, I--”

They both started to speak at the same time, and stopped in unison. They both looked at each other with slight surprise.

“Go ahead,” Sokka said, gesturing for Zuko to continue.

The percussionist stayed silent for a few moments, then cleared his throat. “I-I’ll get the tab. We should go,” he said hurriedly, grabbing the handwritten bill and taking it to the register before Sokka could even blink.

Suddenly, Sokka felt like throwing up.

Had he completely blown it?

Zuko was done paying by the time Sokka grabbed his keys and got up from the table. He didn’t even look at the tanned teen, just heading for the door as if on a mission. Sokka followed, taking longer strides to keep up.

“Zuko, is something wrong?” Sokka asked on the way to the back of the parking lot, where they were both parked. “Did...did I do something to upset you?”

That question got Zuko to stop in his tracks. They were standing in the middle of the parking lot, in the way of traffic. Sokka hoped a car didn’t try to drive through.

For the first time in several minutes, Zuko looked at Sokka. He shook his head. “No, no, it’s nothing like that,” he said, averting his gaze once more. “I just…” He shook his head again, this time ruffling his dark locks with one hand, as if embarrassed about something.

“What?” Sokka prodded. Man, Zuko was acting weird…

It all happened so fast. One second, he was watching Zuko fidget nervously for some reason. The next, Zuko’s lips were on his, slightly rough and chapped, but warm and soft. 

Before Sokka could even really register what was happening, Zuko pulled away, his face beet red. Sokka’s eyes fluttered open--when did they even close?

“Oh, Spirits, I’m sorry, I…” Zuko apologized, looking for all the world like a cornered animal searching for an escape.

Without a word, Sokka stepped forward and initiated a kiss of his own, pulling the taller boy closer and claiming his lips. He had to angle his head a bit to adjust for their height difference, and his hands found their way alongside Zuko’s neck, his trumpet-player fingers gently stroking the corners of Zuko’s jaw.

The blasting of a car horn shocked the both of them out of the moment. They jumped apart as if they’d been burned, both turning toward the source of the noise. A grumpy, elderly man in an old, well-kept car leaned out his driver’s side window, shaking his fist angrily at them.

“Move out of the way, morons!”

Joining hands, Sokka and Zuko beat a hasty retreat out of the way of the car and toward their own vehicles. They came to a stop by Zuko’s truck, both bursting into laughter as the events of the past couple minutes caught up to them.

“I can’t believe we almost got run over by some old guy.” Sokka leaned against the truck, unable to hold himself upright from his laughter.

Zuko had to wipe a tear from the corner of his good eye. “Well, I mean, we  _ did _ kind of stop in the middle of the road.”

“Totally worth it,” Sokka said, beaming. 

The blush was back, dusting Zuko’s face with the most appealing shade of pink. He smiled almost shyly at Sokka.

And goodness, if he didn’t look even more kissable right then.

Again, Sokka pulled Zuko closer to him. His blue eyes met with gold, and he leaned up. “Thanks for dinner,” he said, kissing Zuko once more.


End file.
